


My Cousins

by filteredred



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AU of the twins' birth, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andrew is not a secret, Angst, Depression, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Miscarriage, Nicky is 4 and adorable, Pregnancy, Racism, Religion, Teen Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filteredred/pseuds/filteredred
Summary: Maria Hemmick’s quiet life as a mother and small-town pastor’s wife turns upside down when her unmarried and very pregnant sister-in-law Tilda makes a splashy return, stirring up righteous indignation, uncovering family secrets, and cleaving relationships. As the adults wrestle through old dynamics and new decisions, young family members face uncertain futures..A different Maria with compassion and a backbone, a Luther with a grim past, and a fleshed out Tilda. Precious cupcake Nicky and preemie Andrew and Aaron. I kept thinking about the twins' birth, and I needed someone to love them this time. This AU is not meant to justify any of these characters’ actions in canon..Song Inspiration: Godspeed (Sweet Dreams), lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Songwriter: Radney M. Foster, Performed by: The Dixie Chicks





	1. A Return

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Emily, [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com) for beta reading. I chose Emily because she was "up for anything," including a fic about much-hated characters. She fixed my Spanish, provided a different point of view, and encouraged me to go from a one-shot to a chaptered fic on my first effort. Also thanks to [@aftgficlibrary](https://aftgficlibrary.tumblr.com) for providing a list of willing betas, and to this fierce fandom who loves these characters, heart and soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translations in end notes.

Maria Hemmick sat in her usual place, organ side, second row, balancing an open Bible and notebook. Her husband Luther, pastor of Riverside Community Church, stood tall and confident behind the pulpit. The offering had been collected, and the room hummed with shuffles, murmurs, and creaks as the pianist, organist, and choir members found their seats in the wooden pews among the congregation. Maria smiled as her friend Sarah walked past.

It was late October, the morning air cool by South Carolina standards, but inside was as comfortable and familiar as a hundred Sundays past. Maria flipped to a blank page, wrote the date and scripture passage in careful script, and looked up at Luther and the stained glass window behind him. He had not paused, but Maria cocked her head at his flushed face and stiff posture. Quiet coughs and clearing throats had her glancing back to watch a blonde, heavily pregnant woman in a black and white polka dot dress, colorful sweater, and patent leather heels leisurely walk the length of the center aisle to stop beside her. 

“This seat taken?”

Maria blinked in recognition and slid over. 

“Nice to see you again,” her sister-in-law Tilda murmured, pulling a visitor’s Bible from the pew back and glancing at Maria’s. 

She pointed to Exodus 3. 

“Ah, Moses and the burning bush. Lucky it’s not the Ten Commandments,” she whispered, palming her stomach, “or lightning might burn your church to the ground. Although Luther’s sure to work in a few ‘thou shalt nots’ just for me. That would make a fun drinking game.” She grinned and winked up at her brother. 

_“Dios mio,_ Tilda.” Maria clutched her silver cross necklace and returned her gaze forward. 

The service passed without further incident, Maria rising to join in the closing hymn at Tilda’s pointed nudge. Luther nodded curtly as he strode to the foyer to shake hands and share greetings. Tilda’s golden eyes tracked him like a cat before settling back on Maria, who fought the urge to cross herself under the appraisal. She turned away to gather her belongings and slipped on her light jacket and a small plastic smile, returning “good mornings,” as people streamed past. 

Congregants glanced curiously at Tilda and nodded, but no one stopped to talk; a small miracle. Maria’s friends Helen and Jimmy Dodge walked against the flow and greeted Tilda warmly. 

“You must be Luther’s sister,” Helen said, “the resemblance is striking.”

Maria silently agreed. The Hemmick siblings shared good looks, a pale complexion, and sandy blonde hair, but where Luther was lean and wiry and neat with a straightforward manner, Tilda was stunning with long limbs, large topaz eyes and an innate grace that demanded attention and belied a razor wit and acid tongue. _Like a black widow spider who lures men to their deaths,_ Maria mused under her breath, swallowing a hysterical giggle. She felt hopelessly plain by comparison in a simple skirt and blouse with comfortable low-heeled shoes, her glossy black hair caught in a casual bun. 

“I’m sure you’ve never heard of me.” Tilda’s smile could cut flesh from bone.

Maria pursed her lips.

“How about we pick up Nicky from children’s church and take him to McDonald’s,” Jimmy suggested, glancing between them. “Give you folks a chance to talk.”

“We can keep him ’til the evening service,” Helen said. “We have lots of our great grandkids’ toys around, and I’ll see that he gets a nap.”

“That would be wonderful,” Maria said. “He loves playing at your house, and...yes. I think that’s a good idea.”

The Hemmicks lived in a modest two-story house with blue siding and well-kept landscaping, the quiet Columbia neighborhood a short drive from their church. Tilda pulled in behind Luther’s car and cut her engine. She emerged slowly, rubbing her back. 

“I know God is your comfort, but would it kill you to spring for cushioned pews?” 

Luther ignored her and swiftly unknotted his tie. “I’ll go change.” Maria nodded. 

“We just have a simple lunch on Sundays, since we spend most of the day at church. I hope that you don’t mind sandwiches. Would you like me to heat some soup?”

“I’m not fussy,” Tilda said. “Whatever you have is fine.” She tossed her cigarette on the driveway and stepped on it. Maria winced, glad that Luther was inside. 

“I would have thought a senior pastor could afford nicer cars,” Tilda said, raising a brow. 

“Do you always say what’s on your mind?” Maria asked, crossing her arms. 

“That’s one of my better qualities,” Tilda grinned. 

“We’re saving to build a back porch,” Maria said. “We were sharing one car, but a church member gave us their old one that I use now. It serves its purpose.”

“So they get a tax deduction, and you inherit an eyesore that’s headed to Ford heaven.”

“Yours doesn’t look much better.”

Tilda laughed and flicked her lighter. “That’s the spirit! Stop being so polite all the damn time, it’s not healthy. I need another cigarette before I face my brother. Or three. I’ll let myself in.”

Maria quickly set the table and pulled food from the refrigerator. Tilda glanced around the kitchen as Luther watched her through narrowed eyes. 

“How did this happen?” he asked. 

Tilda stood, hands clasped behind her back studying a framed portrait of Luther and Maria with Nicky between them. “Oh, you know. The usual way. I tripped and fell on a dick.” 

Luther frowned. “I see you’re still not capable of adult conversation.”

Tilda reached out to touch a crayon drawing hung on the refrigerator and raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you needed the adult version.” She ran her hands down her distended stomach and made an explicit gesture. “After I fell on the dick, he put his–”

“Don’t be vile.”

Tilda shrugged. “You have a kid, so you’ve clearly experienced the carnal delight of fucking at least once. You might have even let yourself enjoy it. Maybe it’s been so long you forgot.”

Luther flushed and Maria blushed. “Enough!” He glared at his sister. “You are a guest in our home. Show some respect.”

Maria touched his arm. “Lunch is ready, let’s sit down,” she said. “There’s homemade apple pie for dessert.”

She set down a plate of deli meats and cheese as Luther peeled plastic wrap from a lettuce-lined platter with neat rows of tomato and onion. 

“Let’s pray,” Luther said bowing his head. “Father we thank You for the gifts You have provided. Thank You for this food and the hands that have prepared it. Bless the services this evening and extend Your protective hand over our congregation in their travels. Use this vessel to bring truth to a lost and dying world and return the wanderer’s feet to the path of righteousness. In Your name, amen.”

“Amen,” Maria echoed. 

“If that’s your opening to a Prodigal Sister sermon, save your breath,” Tilda said, spearing a pickle. 

Maria pinched her lips together and passed the platter to Tilda. “Maybe we should talk after lunch,” she suggested. 

“Obviously Luther has something to get off his chest; far be it from me to cause indigestion,” Tilda said, gesturing for him to continue. 

“There’s no ring on your finger, and you look two weeks past due, so if the reference fits...” he shrugged. 

“Actually, I’m not due until December,” she said. “It’s twins.”

Luther choked on his iced tea, and Maria grabbed her pendant. 

Tilda smirked. “But back to you, brother. Do go on.”

“Is this a joke to you? You’ve been off the radar for nearly a year, your phone was disconnected, and our Christmas card was returned with no forwarding address!” Tilda said nothing, so he continued, “And you make your grand return by waltzing into my CHURCH,” Luther banged his fist making plates jump and silverware clatter and his tea slosh onto the table, “in the MIDDLE of a service and sashaying your UNMARRIED enormously PREGNANT self up the aisle like you own the place! Leave it, Maria!” he commanded when she rose to get a towel. 

Maria sat down. 

“What, nothing to say? That’s not like you.”

Tilda sighed. “I’m trying my absolute hardest to see things from your perspective, but I just can’t get my head that far up my ass,” she said. 

Luther growled and Maria covered her face, peeking out between her fingers. 

Tilda chewed and swallowed and made a show of patting her mouth with a napkin. 

“It’s a lovely little church, really takes me back,” she said, reaching for a deviled egg. “The stained glass Jesus is a nice touch. Do you have anything stronger than iced tea?”

“We don’t drink alcohol,” Maria shook her head. 

Luther’s gray eyes sparked a challenge. “She knows that. Why are you here, Tilda? What do you want? Are you involved in something illegal? You need to keep my family out of it.”

“Whaaat an imagination you have,” Tilda drawled. “Let’s see…” she tapped her chin, a far off look in her eyes, then snapped her fingers.

“Got it! I’m the mistress of a married Mexican drug lord. I got knocked up with his twins, but our affair ended tragically when his jealous wife threatened to chop me into hamburger! I begged him to leave his life of crime and run away with me, but he said, ‘No! I never loved you!’ so I stole a million pesos and drove his run down Ford Fairmont 4,000 miles from Tijuana to South Carolina, then rented an apartment near my preacher brother _with the same last name,_ who can be found _in any goddamn phone book!”_ Tilda’s voice grew progressively louder and ended on a shout. “Now we can all die together, _papi!”_ She tapped two fingers to her temple. 

Maria stared open-mouthed, and Luther wiped a hand down his face and gripped his bearded chin. 

“No offense, Maria,” Tilda shrugged. “He can be a white banker selling coke to support his habit if that’s more politically correct.”

Maria looked away. 

“What. Do. You. Want,” Luther gritted. 

Tilda sighed and sat back. “Guy I was with decided to go back to his wife and three kids. Turns out he lied about more than being sterile, and that’s why we moved around so much.” She raised her chin. “I’m not sure I can do this on my own. I don’t need money; I still have my share from Mama and Daddy. I rented a place an hour from here in Winnsboro. I just thought,” hazel eyes sought Maria’s raven ones, “maybe it was time to be around family.”

Luther shook his head. “You don’t have one maternal bone in your body. You should sign them over for adoption immediately.”

“Are they boys or girls?” Maria asked softly. 

Luther huffed in annoyance.

“Both boys,” Tilda said. “I’ll bet Nicky would love some cousins to play with and boss around.”

“This will be a disaster.”

“She needs our help, Luther.”

“I knew I liked you, Ave Maria,” Tilda winked. “You mentioned pie?”

Maria smiled weakly. “Apple. It’s Nicky’s favorite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translations for this chapter:
> 
>  _“Dios mio,_ Tilda.”  
> "My God, Tilda."
> 
> “Now we can all die together, _papi!”_  
>  _papi_ \- colloquial term for daddy or buddy that may be considered offensive


	2. A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luther cleared his throat as Maria stared into the cup she held in both hands. “She is the only family I have left. We will help her, but we will do it my way. I’m not airing our dirty laundry or farming out our problems to the church. Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags for trigger warnings.  
> 
> 
> Special thanks to Emily, [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com) for beta reading. 
> 
> Spanish translations in end notes.

“Tilda needs to listen to reason,” Luther said. “She should sign those boys over the day they’re born.”

 _Same song, different day,_ Maria thought. She continued drying dinner dishes while Luther leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “A single woman has no business raising children, and I wouldn’t trust my sister with a pet goldfish. How will she manage twins?”

Maria handed him a platter to return to a high cabinet, dried her hands and glanced around their modest kitchen. Satisfied that everything was in place, she lifted her steaming cup of tea and headed to the living room couch, inclining her head for Luther to follow. 

“I’m excited to have two new babies,” Maria said. “Who would have thought we would have twins in the family?”

“She can’t keep a job, she drinks, and she doesn’t have a husband. Pffft. Husband. Who knows if that no-good Minyard was even the father.”

“She seemed pretty taken with him.”

Luther joined her on the couch. “What has she said?”

Maria grinned. “Her favorite thing to talk about is how short he was. Barely over 5 feet! Can you imagine Tilda towering over someone so short? Like that Hollywood couple, Sonny and Cher.”

Luther shook his head. “I try not to think about Tilda with men, it makes my head hurt. Maybe she liked having someone she could push around.”

Maria tapped a fingernail against the flowered china. “I don’t think it was like that. I think she planned to build a life with him, and it hurt when she found out he’d been lying to her. And then he left.”

“If she’d marry someone instead of playing house with them, maybe they’d have a reason to stay. At the very least she’d know if they were already married.”

Maria inclined her head and swirled the tea bag.

“I don’t like Nicky spending so much time with her; she’s a bad influence. I’m surprised he hasn’t started swearing.”

“He will be spending a lot more time with her when the babies come home.”

Luther grimaced. 

“You know that people in the church would be happy to help,” Maria said. “We work with single mothers all the time.”

“I don’t want those busybodies involved. It’s bad enough she showed up like she did. The less the church knows about my black sheep sister, the better.”

“They can’t expect us to be the perfect.”

“We are called to be separate,” Luther said, pointing to a cross stitched verse on the wall. “Romans 12:2, ‘Be not conformed to this world.’ Who would follow a preacher whose own family lives like Tilda?”

“1 Timothy 1:15, ‘Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief,’” Maria countered. “Tilda is family, regardless of what people think and no matter how much she disrupts our lives. Those babies are our family, too.”

“I never said she wasn’t family, and we are already helping her. I just spent half a day getting her set up with a rocking chair and cradle and listening to her creative cussing,” Luther said. 

“She swears more around you because you get so upset.” Maria set her cup down and fidgeted with her necklace. “She’s also said some things about your father – what it was like growing up.”

Luther pulled his arm from the back of the couch and folded his hands on his lap. “Tilda should mind her tongue,” he said. 

“Why won’t you talk about it? I know you don’t like to speak ill of him, but you were raised by an abusive man who made you try to earn his love.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Luther’s face flushed. “My father carved me into a man and showed me the way of truth. Tilda was certainly raised better.”

Maria sipped her tea. “You cannot treat everything that you consider an imperfection with shame and judgment. I understand your intentions, but you will never change Tilda, and you frighten Nicholas.” 

“So, now I’m wrong for saying, ‘get married instead of spreading your legs for every schmo who catches your eye?’” Luther asked, flinty-eyed. “Is Tilda God now? She gets to decide what’s right? And I shouldn’t correct my own son? That is news to me.”

“That’s not what I said. Tilda must answer to God like we all will. And Nicky does not need to be treated so harshly for things like talking out of turn. He gets excited; it is not a moral issue.”

“Nicky needs to learn respect and to stop sucking his thumb. I will not raise a soft and foolish boy.”

“He's four! It’s just a nervous habit, and he will grow out of it, but raising your voice scares him. And I think...” she trailed off as she reached for her tea. 

“You think what, Maria?” Luther raised an eyebrow and spread his long, thin arms wide. “Please, don’t leave me hanging.”

Quiet and submissive by nature, Maria rarely spoke up to her husband. Her stomach clenched at the hard look on his face. 

_“Bien te lo diré,_ Luther. Fine, I will tell you.” She unclasped her necklace and wound the silver chain loosely around her finger. “I think Nicholas reminds you of Tilda. He talks too fast and too much and too loud. He laughs and sings and loves bright, bright things. He obeys you, but he does not bend to your will.”

She focused on playing with her necklace instead of Luther’s face. “We have lost three babies, too small to even bury in the ground or know if they were boys or girls.” She crossed herself and kissed the pendant, refastened it, and finally met his eyes. 

Maria sat up tall, but she whispered, “I see you trying fit Nicholas into your vision of perfection, just like your father did to you and Tilda. I’m afraid you will push him away from us. I cannot lose my only son.”

Luther rose to his full 6 feet. Time slowed to the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock on the wall and the young boy sleeping upstairs. Maria knew Luther would never strike her, but she felt real fear in crossing a line that she couldn’t turn back from.

“Nicky starts kindergarten in the fall,” he finally said. “You have until exactly one month before his first day to get him to stop sucking his thumb, or I’m taking over. If he doesn’t like being yelled at, I don’t imagine he’ll take too kindly to hot sauce.”

Maria squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I should not have said those things about your father.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore. This is a civilized household. I will raise my son to be the man he needs to become. My WIFE will learn her place and speak to me with respect or not at all,” Luther paused until she nodded. “Getting Tilda squared away quietly is our number one priority,” he continued in a more normal tone. “I will NOT have our good name dragged through the mud for my sister’s transgressions.” 

Luther cleared his throat as Maria stared into the cup she held in both hands. “She is the only family I have left. We will help her, but we will do it my way. I’m not airing our dirty laundry or farming out our problems to the church. Good night.”

Maria sat on the couch for a long time before washing out her cup and slowly heading to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation for this chapter:
> 
>  _"Bien te lo diré,_ Luther."  
> "Fine, I will tell you, Luther.”


	3. A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are some things that are orange?” he called as the boy zoomed past. 
> 
> “Pumpkins!” Nicky yelled. “Kittens and foxes and the oranges from my breakfast!”
> 
> Spanish translations plus conversation with my beta in end notes,

Maria phoned to check on Tilda, telling her to rest while she and Nicky shopped for infant formula, diapers, and wipes, praying that she wouldn’t run into any church members. 

“Are we getting a baby, Mama?” Nicky asked. 

“Yes, there are two new babies coming to Aunt Tilda’s house soon, and they will be your cousins,” she said. 

“What’s a cousin?” he asked. 

_“Un primo es tu familia para siempre,”_ she said. 

“Family forever,” Nicky echoed. “I will love my cousins forever.”

Back at the church, Maria bagged up basic groceries from the giving pantry, chiding Nicky to put things back as he pulled them out for closer inspection. Tilda had enough money to rent a small furnished apartment but never said no when Maria showed up with supplies. She chatted back and forth with Nicky and spun toward the doorway at someone’s polite cough.

“Mr. Jimmy!” Nicky cried, launching himself at the stooped man with thinning gray hair. 

_“Nicolás, ten cuidado_ – be careful!” Maria scolded, but Jimmy just chuckled and scooped Nicky up, hugging him close. 

“Oh, this is just fine,” he said. “Nicholas Hemmick, you are getting too big for this old man to hold,” he teased, mock staggering as Nicky squealed. 

“Nicholas Esteban Hemmick,” Nicky crowed, “and I’m not SO big, I’m only this many fingers, right Mom?” he asked, holding up four fingers proudly. “I’m one, two, three, four, and then comes FIVE in MAY!” he yelled straight into Jimmy’s face. 

“Nicholas, inside voice please,” Maria pleaded as she set a bag down and reached over to hug them both. “I don’t think this boy will ever learn manners.”

“Nonsense, his manners are just fine. Not too many folks get excited to see this old man,” Jimmy chuckled. “You Hemmicks are like family to Helen and me.”

“Are you my family like my two new baby cousins who came out of Aunt Tilda’s stomach?” Nicky asked, dark eyes wide. “Are you my family forever?”

Maria puffed a strand of long black hair away from her face, grabbing it to twist through her fingers. 

“Yes, Nicky, you’re like family to me. Some things are too big to keep all to yourself, Maria,” Jimmy said. Watery blue eyes met jet black ones as he settled Nicky more firmly onto his hip. “Helen saw you buying diapers and things at the old K-Mart, but since you and Luther haven’t said anything, we knew you must be trying to keep things quiet. We want to help.”

Maria’s eyes glistened at the simple kindness. 

“We are buying baby’s milk and so, So, SO many diapers.” Nicky pulled his thumb from his mouth with a pop, tone rising a level on each word and arms flung wide as if the diapers would fill the room. 

_So dramatic,_ Maria thought, hiding a smile and resolving to remind him about the thumb when they were alone again. 

“Baby cousins must poop a really lot.”

Maria sniffed and giggled, and Jimmy let out a hearty laugh. “Babies are very good at pooping,” he agreed. “Look here in this box I brought.” He set the boy down and reached for a large plastic tote. Inside were tiny knitted hats and socks and several crocheted blankets. 

“They are so soft!” Nicky exclaimed. 

“Why don’t you pick out an afghan for each of your cousins and one for yourself?” Jimmy suggested, handing two sets of hats and socks to Maria. 

“What’s an afghan?”

Jimmy scratched his head. “I guess it’s a homemade blanket made out of yarn,” he said.

“Luther doesn’t want the congregation involved,” Maria said, squeezing her cross. “People have finally stopped asking about Tilda.”

“These are separate from the ladies’ knitting group. My Helen is never still; this is from her own private stash,” he said with a wink. “Feels kinda good to be in on a secret for once.”

Nicky pulled out a bright orange blanket. “This one,” he said. “Can I have it, Jimmy? I have lots of colors of stuff, but I never had an orange afghan before.” 

Jimmy’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at Maria, who bit back a rueful smile and shook her head. “What do you say, Maria?” he asked. They watched Nicky drape the blanket across his back and race across the room. 

“Luther will hate it,” Maria moaned as she selected baby blue and green afghans for the twins. 

“Too late now, he’s claimed it,” Jimmy grinned. “Helen knows he likes bright colors and said that’s the one he’d pick.” 

“What are some things that are orange?” he called as the boy zoomed past. 

“Pumpkins!” Nicky yelled. “Kittens and foxes and the oranges from my breakfast!”

“I’d say that young man’s just about ready for kindergarten,” Jimmy said, “although his teacher’s gonna have her hands full.”

“Thank you, Jimmy,” Maria gently squeezed his bony hand. “You and Helen make me feel less alone.”

Jimmy leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You’re not alone. Next time you need something, girl, you’d best ask. We’re getting pretty old for this detective nonsense. Now, let’s get this stuff to your car before the nosier-than-thous decide they need to inventory macaroni and peanut butter. And then you’re gonna call Helen to tell her how she can set about helping with those youngsters. It’s been a long time since she’s rocked a baby to sleep. That’s the stuff of miracles, right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation for this chapter:
> 
> _“Un primo es tu familia para siempre,”_ she said.  
> "A cousin is your family forever," she said.
> 
> _“Nicolás, ten cuidado"_  
>  "Nicholas, be careful"
> 
> ______________________________________________  
> Convo with my beta, Emily @murdereyebrows
> 
> | _and rolled her eyes heavenward_  
>  Murder Eyebrows: if Maria keeps rolling her eyes she is going to go blind hahaha  
> Filtered Red: That would be unfortunate 😂
> 
> Lesson: betas see things you don't and can save your character's eyesight


	4. A Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria, Tilda, and Nicky bring Andrew and Aaron home for the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! This short chapter was originally the first section of my one-shot version of this fic. Thanks, always, to my beta [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com)for encouraging me to do more.

“God, I need a cigarette.”

Maria’s eyes flicked to Nicky humming in the back seat, then over to her sister-in-law. “You know you can’t smoke in Luther’s car, and your doctor said it’s not good for the babies. They’ve only been out of the NICU for a few days. Think of all the money you would save if you quit.”

Tilda snorted. “I’m about to bring home two monsters who will do nothing but cry and shit 24 hours a day. I may never sleep again. If I can’t fucking smoke, I might as well jump out into oncoming traffic.”

“Tilda! We’ve asked you not to swear in front of Nicky, and why would you even joke about something like that?”

“Don’t squeeze your asshole so tight, you’re starting to sound like Luther. Hey, Nicky! Auntie T saw some big ducking ducks!”

“I want to see ducks!” Nicky yelled from the middle of the back seat, empty infant seats strapped beside him. 

“Inside voices, please,” Maria reminded them, shaking her head as she turned into the hospital parking lot.


	5. A Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maria shrugged. “I guess preschoolers don’t know about the different shades of coffee. I hear all kinds of things about my accent and the color of our skin. Even you are on the run from a Mexican cartel,” she teased, “but this is the first time Nicky has mentioned it.”
> 
> “I already apologized for that,” Tilda grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicky's first encounter with racism.  
> 
> 
> Spanish translations plus bonus interactions with my beta [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com) at the end of the chapter.

Nicky hugged his afghan tight. “These are my cousins!” he informed Tilda, who snorted a laugh. “Can I play with them, Mama?” 

“No, Nicholas, they are to small to play, but you can touch them if you are very gentle. Remember when you played with bubbles and tried not to let them pop? Touch them softly, just like that.”

Nicky carefully set the blanket on the floor and leaned over the small cradle. Maria steadied it and smiled. Nicky’s eyes danced as he stroked first Aaron’s and then Andrew’s tiny hands. “My cousins,” he breathed. 

“Don’t wake them up,” Tilda said sharply. 

Nicky’s eyes grew wide, and he slid his thumb in his mouth. 

“It’s fine, Tilda,” Maria said, nodding reassurance. _“Lo hiciste bien, Nicolás.”_ He slowly pulled his thumb out and smiled.

“Mom, my cousins look like Mr. Jimmy. They are wrinkly and don’t have any hair.” 

Tilda snorted again, and Maria relaxed and fought back a smile. “We will feed them lots of warm milk so they grow happy and fat,” she said. “They have hair, but it is very thin and white. I think they will have blonde hair and light eyes like your friend Ben at church.”

“Ben is not my friend,” Nicky said, shaking his head. 

“What?” Maria asked. “What happened?” 

She and Tilda shared a glance. 

“Ben said my skin is like a brown egg and everyone else in our class is like a white egg, and brown eggs are rotted,” Nicky said. “So I pushed him, and now he won’t be my friend anymore. Will their hair be curly like mine?”

Maria breathed out slowly and tried to find words. “That was a mean thing for Ben to say. People are born with many different skin colors. We will have to wait to see if the boys’ hair grows in curly or not. Now. Let’s give them their nice new blankets.”

Nicky ran to the door, pulled the afghans from a paper bag and hurried back to the cradle. 

“Eggs?” Tilda raised a brow. 

Maria shrugged. “I guess preschoolers don’t know about the different shades of coffee. I hear all kinds of things about my accent and the color of our skin. Even you are on the run from a Mexican cartel,” she teased, “but this is the first time Nicky has mentioned it.”

“I already apologized for that,” Tilda grumbled.

“By the way, a million pesos is worth less than $3,000. The currency is in crises. You need to read more, _papi.”_ She gave Tilda a mocking two-fingered salute. 

“Learn something new everyday,” Tilda drawled. “Does Luther know that?”

“Of course.”

“Dammit.”

“Andrew likes blue and Aaron wants green,” Nicky said. 

“Then that’s settled,” Maria agreed and softly spread them over the sleeping infants. “Tilda, why don’t you get some rest? Nicholas and I will straighten up for you and prepare some bottles for the fridge.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, but that church lady was here last night and fixed some bottles and left a casserole. I haven’t been on my best behavior like that since my Sunday school days.”

“What do you mean?” 

Tilda gestured toward the cigarette pack and lighter in her hand. 

“I mean I’m sitting on the goddamn toilet with the door closed and the fan blowing, smoking like a kid hiding a joint in the school bathroom. I mean I now own a crocheted cover for my spare toilet paper and a casserole dish that I’m supposed to keep in case I magically become domestic.”

Maria grinned. “I see nothing wrong with any of those things.”

“I was in the bathroom so much she offered to bring me prune juice, and she’ll probably show up with an air freshener dressed like a doll,” Tilda grumbled. 

Nicky bumped the cradle and Tilda grabbed a fistful of her own hair. “Don’t you dare wake them up, Nicky, I swear to God!”

He shoved his thumb in his mouth and shrank behind Maria. “They are fine, and I am here now in any case. Go get some rest. Nicholas, remember how I said it’s time to be a big boy now that your cousins are here?”

“Big boys don’t suck their thumbs,” Nicky said, pulling his thumb from his mouth and holding it up toward her. 

“That’s right!” Maria said, “And you are my big strong boy, _mi gran chico fuerte._ Let’s go see if Aunt Tilda has some prune juice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation for this chapter:
> 
> _“Lo hiciste bien, Nicolás.”_  
>  "You did well, Nicholas."
> 
> _papi_  
>  Colloquial, daddy or buddy
> 
> _mi gran chico fuerte_  
>  my big strong boy
> 
> ___________________  
> Convo with my beta  
> Emily: | _"Los tocaste justo, Nicholas"_  
>  What did you wanna say here? it sounds odd but the translation varies depending what was your original idea here
> 
> Me: Something like “you did just fine.” I couldn’t get the translated text selected on my phone, and I typed it in wrong. Is she saying “the cost is fair?” or “I like the coast”? No one can say for sure... 😂
> 
> Emily: hahahaha okok then _"Lo hiciste bien, Nicholas"_ would be the translation. I was thinking "Nicolás" (or Nico) is the spanish version of Nicky's name so maybe it would be nice if Maria would call him that when speaking it
> 
> Me: It wouldn't let me copy and paste your suggestion - please double check my retype? <3
> 
> Me: Is that a in Nicolãs correct?
> 
> Emily: humm no, but I don't think your keyboard has the option to add it so I changed it!
> 
> Me: I couldn’t find it on my keyboard. Hopefully I can copy and paste yours when I’m on laptop instead of phone.
> 
> Me: _Marked as resolved_


	6. A Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mama found out because I stole the money from her coffee can, and she could tell I wasn’t feeling right. She sent me to bed with aspirin, a hot water bottle, and all her disappointments."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, always, to my beta [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com). Today is her birthday - happy birthday, Emily! 🎉🎁🎂🎉  
>    
> Spanish translations in the end notes.

“Oh, thank God,” Tilda said, opening the door and stepping back so Maria could enter. Both babies were shrieking. Maria set her bag on the floor and took a red-faced Andrew from Tilda, murmuring soothing words in Spanish as she walked over to Aaron in the cradle.

“I tried to leave two messages this morning,” Maria said. “Do their diapers need to be changed?” 

“Just did it,” Tilda said, running fingers through her ragged hair, “and they don’t want to eat, they just want to scream. Welcome to the Hotel Hellifornia.” She lit a cigarette and collapsed on the couch. “Where’s Nicky? What the hell happened?”

“He has an earache. I called the doctor, and Luther is taking him later today. He was very upset not to be coming here.” She confirmed that their diapers were dry and settled into the rocking chair, snagging the blue afghan and draping it over both babies. “How long have they been crying?”

“How long is forever?” Tilda groaned. “If one cries, the other joins in. That’s why I turned off the phone last night. I lost two hours of sleep for a goddamn wrong number at 10 o’clock.”

“It’s a shame they won’t take pacifiers,” Maria said. “I think they’ll settle down soon; they’ve got to be exhausted. Will you please turn the phone back on in case Luther calls?”

Tilda crushed out her cigarette and immediately lit another. She flicked the ringer on the wall phone and asked, “Do you want tea?”

“That would be wonderful!”

The boys’ steady wails turned to short crying jags. Their small bodies still trembled, and Aaron hiccuped.

“What’s the weather like out there in the real world?” Tilda asked, spreading the blinds to peer outside. “Why is the Church of the High Holy van parked outside my apartment?” she turned to Maria with one hand on her hip and a raised brow. “Are you _trying_ to get struck by lightning?”

_“¿No sabe tu tonta mamá que Dios no golpeará mi camioneta con un rayo si ella no está dentro?”_

“Secret conversations with children are beneath you.”

“I told them their mommy is silly, God won’t strike my van with lightning if she’s not inside it.”

Tilda chuckled. “True.”

“That was the second half of my morning,” Maria said. “A warning light came on in my car. Luther needs his to take Nicholas to the doctor, so he drove me to the church to pick up the van. I’ll have to use it until my car is fixed.”

“Blessed are the preacher’s wives for they shall inherit other people’s junk,” Tilda said, heading to the kitchen to turn on the tea kettle. “I’m surprised that pile of rust has lasted this long. Did I ever tell you about Mama saving used tea bags to send our church missionaries? That woman invented the word ‘thrifty.’”

“That’s awful – you must be joking!”

“I swear on Luther’s Bible,” Tilda said.

The twins were asleep, only occasionally snuffling, but Maria continued gently rocking them. 

“Nicholas wants to teach the boys Spanish so they can have a secret language. He is so in love with them. I should put a quarter in a jar every time he says, ‘my cousins.’ His college tuition would be paid in no time! He wants you all to move in with us, too.”

Tilda wrinkled her nose. “Ugh can you imagine? If the joy of tormenting Luther could ever outweigh the pain of living with him, I’d do it,” she said, “and then we could place bets on who would murder the other.” She placed a hot cup beside Maria. “I’m surprised he hasn’t told you to start a new mothers' prayer group here.”

Maria raised her eyebrows. 

“You can’t be serious,” Tilda said.

Maria rocked and smiled. 

“I forgot you had a fun side,” Tilda said. “Luther would choke if he thought you actually enjoyed hanging out with the family stain.”

“You’re not half bad when you’re not drinking or trying to annoy Luther,” Maria said, gently laying the boys down and picking up her tea. 

“God, I Iove adult beverages,” Tilda said, tapping her chin. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to forget your troubles and drown out the world?”

“Everyone wants that,” Maria shrugged, “but how does blacking out solve anything? Besides, you’re a mother now.”

“Did Luther ever tell you the story about him and me getting drunk?”

“Luther does not like to talk about the past.”

“I only wish it had been communion wine, because that would make a better story,” Tilda yawned and stretched, “but it was just regular-sin-level wine that my boyfriend stole from his parents. I was 15, my boyfriend was 17. Luther must have been 18. I can’t remember how we got him to try it; Sam must have dared him. Anyway, ol’ Reverend Alden Hemmick was sorely disappointed by our behavior and made us write out Bible verses with a puke bucket beside us, even Sam. He saved the switch until we were sober enough to feel it. Daddy never liked to waste his efforts.”

Maria shook her head.

“Anyway. Luther lost his taste for alcohol, and I found mine. We’ve been complete opposites all our lives – him trying to please Daddy, and me trying to get free of him....I had an abortion that summer.” 

_“Dios mío,”_ Maria said, making the sign of the cross. 

“Ah!” Tilda wagged her finger and nodded. “Breaking out the big guns. They would’ve covered it up and shipped me off to a home for unwed mothers faster than your grandmother could count a rosary, but Sam found someone who took care of it. I said I was 18 and gave them $300 and a forged permission letter to cover their ass. Mama found out because I stole the money from her coffee can, and she could tell I wasn’t feeling right. She sent me to bed with aspirin, a hot water bottle, and all her disappointments. She kept it from Daddy, said it would kill him, but I think she was more concerned about Daddy killing Sam. Or me. God, I feel like I’m at confession.”

“Are you asking for forgiveness? I am very sad, but that is between you and God.”

Tilda shook her head. “No, I don’t regret it. I was 15, for fuck’s sake. My parents preached abstinence until marriage, nothing more. I learned about birth control the hard way. Pretty ironic to get knocked up again all these years later by that goddam short bastard.”

“I do not believe abortion is ever the right choice, but the baby is in heaven and now you have two beautiful boys,” Maria said. “I always dreamed of having a big family. I lost two babies before we had Nicholas and one after.”

“You never said!” 

“Luther and I are very private, and it happened so early no one knew,” she lifted one shoulder. “We prayed for more children, and I had almost lost faith when I got pregnant with Nicholas. Now the doctor says it is too dangerous to try again. It has changed us. Luther is very closed off. I worry that we are putting all our hopes for those lost babies on Nicholas.” Maria blinked. “I think I’ve said too much.” She leaned over to pick up Andrew, snuggling him close. 

“I think you’ve said just the right amount,” Tilda said. “I think Sam was the only person who loved every part of me. Maybe it’s a first love thing, you know? But the guilt tore him up, and we were never the same. I’d give anything to be loved like that again.” Then, softly, “Did you name them?”

“Of course we did. I still pray for them every night.” Maria rocked and kissed the top of Andrew’s head. “First is Luis, named for my brother. He would be eight years old now. Then Noah, he would be seven. Then came our sweet angel Nicolás, and Sophia would be three. I felt so different carrying her, and I got to feel her moving inside me. I know she was _mi niña pequeña_ – my little girl. Luther rushed me to the hospital, but it was too late. He cried so much that day. Now I wonder if he will ever cry again.”

They sat lost in private thoughts until Maria finally stirred. “I’m sure your father loved you, but he got caught up in thinking people could actually be perfect and used angry discipline to bend your will. Luther can be harsh, but he fights for what he believes and for our family in his own way. It’s all any of us can do for our children.”

“That is a very generous view.” Tilda yawned and stood. “Daddy was a self righteous son of a bitch who loved religion more than life itself, and my brother is just like him. I’m beat. I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She squeezed Maria’s shoulder. 

“Get some sleep,” Maria said. “The boys and I will be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish in this chapter:
> 
> _“¿No sabe tu tonta mamá que Dios no golpeará mi camioneta con un rayo si ella no está dentro?”_  
>  "Doesn't your silly mother know that God won't hit my truck with lightning if she's not inside?"  
> 
> 
> _“Dios mío,”_ Maria said, making the sign of the cross.  
>  "My God," Maria said, making the sign of the cross.  
> 
> 
> _mi niña pequeña_ \- my little girl


	7. A Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _God bless Mommy and matchbox cars_  
>  _God bless Dad and thanks for the stars_  
>  _God hears ‘amen’ wherever we are_  
>  _And I love you_  
>  Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group  
> Songwriter: Radney M. Foster  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated chapter count to 10. Two chapters of story to come after this one; the final chapter will be the lyrics to my inspiration song, a short explanation about how the song came to be, and a link to my playlist.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting, it means a lot! Spanish translations in the end notes.

Maria read Nicky a short Bible story and smiled when he prayed for his “baby cousins” and begged to hear a favorite children’s story in Spanish. 

His dark eyes, so like her brother Luis’s that her chest ached, drooped closed. Long lashes fluttered as he fought to stay awake and talking. “My cousins are so little.” He yawned. “Next time I want to hold them both in my arms at the same time! I’m big, so I can do it! Was I a small, small baby like that?”

“No, you were never as tiny as Aaron and Andrew,” she said. “Twins can be born small because they run out of room in their mama’s tummy, and your cousins were born very early. Remember how they stayed in the hospital for a few weeks? So they could grow big and strong? How do you say BIG and STRONG _en español?”_

 _“GRANDE y FUERTE,”_ Nicky said, mimicking her growl. 

“Haha, yes, _mi amor!”_ Maria laughed and kissed his forehead. “But I think you will always be a bit taller then your cousins.”

“I WILL?!” Nicky’s eyes flew open. 

“Yes, I think so. And now it is time for my big strong boy to go sleep.”

“I did not suck my thumb any times today,” Nicky said. “Now Dad can’t be mad at me.”

“I’m very proud of you! _Dulces sueños hombrecito,_ sweet dreams, little man.”

Exhausted, Maria went downstairs to join Luther on the couch, slipping her shoes off with a groan. She wanted a cup of tea but didn’t have the energy to get up or to ask for one. Luther had not mentioned their fight again, so neither had she. 

“Nicky finally asleep?” he asked. 

“Yes, after he had his fill of stories and stopped talking,” Maria chuckled. “He is going to break all the girls’ hearts, just like Luis.”

“How’s my disaster of a sister?” Luther asked, not glancing up from the newspaper. 

“She was doing so well, but I’ve noticed a change these last two weeks,” Maria said. “She’s not cleaning up after herself. She wants to sleep all the time, and she is constantly angry with the babies and Nicholas. He is used to running outside and speaking loudly – it is hard to channel all of that energy into coloring and playing quietly with toys. Helen has noticed the changes in Tilda and is worried, too.” 

“What else?” Luther asked. When Maria didn’t answer, he lowered his paper. “What?”

Maria bit her lip. “There is a man living in the apartment. I’ve grown close with Tilda, but she refuses to say more than his name is David, and he has a job.”

“Wonderful,” Luther rolled his eyes.

“He smokes different cigarettes than her, the green ones?”

“Menthol.”

“So now the apartment smells even more like cigarette smoke.”

“That is not possible,” Luther huffed. “What else?”

“Well, I just took her groceries three days ago, plus Helen made meals for the freezer, and the food is almost gone. You know how little Tilda eats. I think he’s just using her for food and a place to stay.”

“And sex,” Luther grumbled. “Matilda’s one marketable skill.” 

“That is a terrible thing to say about your own sister!” Maria gasped, sliding her cross back and forth on its short chain. “I don’t know what to do. She is not taking an interest in the babies at all. She hardly comes out of her room, and I feel guilty when I leave to come home. Helen asked me if she should start staying there overnight.”

Luther frowned. “Absolutely not.”

“I can’t tell if she is drinking or depressed. If she is drinking, she’s hiding the bottles. Helen and I think she should see a doctor. Her moods were always up and down, but now she is always down. If she is depressed, there are medicines for that. She is not breastfeeding, so I’m sure she could take something if the doctor think she needs it.”

Luther shook his head. “I don’t believe in that emotional nonsense. Tilda should give the babies up and stop pretending she can do this. There are plenty of people who can raise contributing members to society a darn sight better than my sister,” he said. “Those boys are going to end up juvenile delinquents, mark my words.”

“I wish we could take them,” Maria said softly. “Nicholas and I love them, and we can’t have any more children.”

Luther set the paper aside and looked at his wife fully. “I refuse to spend my life paying for Tilda’s mistakes. Our budget is already tight since we bought the house; how do you expect me to support a family of five with no time to prepare? And can you even imagine trying to parent my sister’s children with her undermining every value we try to teach?”

Maria’s shoulders sagged. “I know. But it’s not right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanish translation for this chapter:
> 
> "How do you say BIG and STRONG _en español?”_  
>  "How do you say BIG and STRONG in Spanish?
> 
>  _“GRANDE y FUERTE,”_ Nicky said  
> "BIG and STRONG," Nicky said
> 
> “Haha, yes, _mi amor!”_  
>  "Haha, yes, my love!"
> 
>  _Dulces sueños hombrecito_  
>  Sweet dreams, little man
> 
> ___________________________________  
> props to my beta @murdereyebrows


	8. A Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Godspeed little man_   
>  _Sweet Dreams little man_   
>  _Oh, my love will fly to you each night_   
>  _on angel's wings_   
>  _Godspeed Godspeed_   
>  _Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)_
> 
> Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group  
> Songwriter: Radney M. Foster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Emily](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com) for the beta!
> 
> Spanish translations in end notes.

“Tilda has seen the light and called Children’s Services,” Luther said.

Maria stiffened. “What did you do?”

Luther held his hands up. “Nothing! I just talked sense, and she finally listened. You’re there too much, and so is Helen. I’m doing the work of two people in this house, plus writing sermons and running the church while you help my sister, who by your own words does nothing. I’ve had enough of Tilda disrupting things to last me through this life and eternity. An agent will be at her apartment tomorrow at 2.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Do you like driving an hour one way and spending all your time over there?”

“She could move closer.”

“She’s too close now,” Luther said. “It doesn’t matter. She’s decided.”

Maria shook her head sadly. “I will take Nicky to say goodbye.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Luther said. “We should never have exposed him to this situation.”

“It was impossible not to, and it is important for him. They can’t just disappear from his life.”

When Maria and Nicky arrived at Tilda’s apartment the next afternoon, a tall, pretty black woman in a navy skirt and blazer stood outside the unit next door looking at her watch. 

“Aren’t you the pastor’s wife from Riverside Community?” she asked. 

“Yes? How did you know that?” Maria carried an infant car seat in each hand, with her right arm looped through the handle so she could hold on to Nicky. 

“Well, for one thing, you drove up in a van that says ‘Riverside Community Church,’” the woman smiled, “and I’ve lived in Columbia all my life. I know who’s who in the Soda Town.”

“Soda Town?”

She laughed. “Sorry, it’s a nickname for Columbia. The natives call it Cola for short, so Soda Town is my default.”

“I’m Maria Hemmick, and this is my son Nicholas. You can call him Nicholas or Nicky, he likes both. Are you looking for Tilda Hemmick? Because it’s this apartment,” she tilted her head toward the door on the left, “not that one.”

“Technically, I never met you, and I never heard that name,” the woman said. “This has been filed as a sealed, anonymous placement, so I’m actually here to see a Ms. Doe and some babies. But that explains why I’ve been pounding on this door for almost 10 minutes. Good Lord, I was about to call the police. I’m Marsha Fanning, CFS, and backslidden Baptist. I don’t know why I said that!” Even in sensible heels, the woman was almost as tall as Luther and her smile the warmest thing about the day. 

“It’s all right, people say all kinds of things to pastor’s wives,” Maria said, leaning down toward Nicky, who was pulling frantically on her sleeve. “What is it?”

“That lady is a VERY BIG DARK BROWN EGG!” he whispered loudly. 

_“Dios mío, Nicolás,”_ Maria said weakly. “Please excuse my son’s manners, he has been learning about ethnicities from some very rude children.”

“Actually, I have black skin,” Marsha said, holding her hand out for Nicky to inspect more closely.

“You don’t look like a rotted egg,” Nicky said solemnly. 

Marsha bent down to his level. “Who said you were a rotten egg?”

“Ben from my Sunday school class.”

“Next time you see Ben tell him, ‘The same God that made you made me,’ ok?”

Nicky nodded. 

“High five!” Marsha said. 

Nicky grinned and smacked her upright palm. 

“You have lots of rings, you must be RICH!”

Marsha slapped her thigh as she stood, her laughter bubbling through the air. “Nicky, you have got to be the most honest human I have ever met!” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m not rich, I just like pretty things.”

Maria shook her head and allowed a small smile, immensely grateful that Marsha Fanning was assigned to work with their family. 

Tilda answered the door on the first knock and looked at Maria standing with the car seats and Nicky. “Shit, I thought you were Children’s Services,” she said, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. “I need a fucking drink.”

“That would be me. Marsha Fanning, Fairfield County CFS,” she said, still smiling at Nicky as she stepped into view and held up her badge. “May I come in?”

“Are you sure you want to do this Tilda?” Maria asked, closing the door behind them. “Can you really give them up?” By now they could converse through facial expressions alone, but Tilda avoided her eyes.

“I’m not exactly attached; I’m not like you,” Tilda said. “All they do is eat, shit, and cry, and I still can’t tell them apart.”

“Eat shit!” Nicky parroted, and for once Maria didn’t correct him.

“Besides, my brother the good reverend can be very convincing when he’s on a mission.”

Maria grabbed her necklace. “What did Luther say?”

“Relax, Ave Maria,” Tilda ran a hand through her hair. “He just waxed poetic about my lack of value as a human being, urged me to become an honest woman and marry their father or any man who would have me, and showed general disdain for having other people pay for my mistakes. Blah, blah, blah, ‘you’re going to hell.’”

Maria blinked back tears. “I can’t believe this is happening. You were doing so well. Luther should have been proud of you. I was proud.”

Tilda softened. “He didn’t have to sell it too hard. I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. I’ve got a chance to shake the dust of this place off my feet, and I’m taking it.” She shrugged. “I gave it a shot. Turns out, I’m not very maternal, to the surprise of exactly no one.”

“Did Luther at least hold the boys?”

Tilda snorted, back to her old self for a moment. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“All right, let’s see these babies,” Marsha stepped between the two women. “Are they identical? I haven’t worked a case with twins in a while.”

“Yes, they are,” Maria said, as Tilda studied her cigarette. 

The boys were awake and quiet lying in their shared cradle, and Nicky made a beeline for them, dragging his afghan behind. 

Maria was dismayed by the state of the apartment, with clothes strewn about and plates of half-eaten food and empty beer cans on the counter. A sour odor undercut the cigarette smell. She felt a headache starting and wanted desperately to open a window despite the chilly January air. She noticed a flannel shirt and a pair of men’s work boots thrown in a corner and prayed silent thanks that David was nowhere in sight. Her face flushed hot, as if Tilda’s offenses were her own. 

Marsha said nothing, her demeanor all business as she walked over to the cradle where Nicky was talking to the twins. 

“Mama says you have to get a new mom, but you will still be my cousins,” he said through tears. “I wanted to give you my bed, and I would always sleep on the floor, but Mom and Dad said no.” Maria joined them. He sobbed and buried his face into her side, and she hugged him close. The twins looked at them soberly, and Aaron yawned. 

Marsha picked up first Andrew, then Aaron, who both blinked, unimpressed, as she looked them over. 

“These boys have been taken care of,” Marsha said, glancing approvingly at Maria as she gently laid Aaron back in the cradle. “Is that your doing?” 

“I’m standing right here,” Tilda said, “and I can hear you.”

“Tilda takes care of them. I’ve been helping when I can, along with my friend from church,” Maria said. “They’re really good babies.”

“I help, too!” Nicky said. 

“Yes, Nicholas is a big help,” Maria agreed. 

“Damn, they are tiny though!” Marsha said, flipping through her notes. “How old are they again? Here we go...10-and-a-half weeks, born November 4 at 34 weeks gestation – 6 weeks early, huh? –17 days in the NICU.” 

“If they were born on their due date, they’d be about 5 weeks old now,” Maria said. “They were both just a few ounces over 6 pounds at their 2-month checkup. Tilda has their records.”

A firm knock sounded on the door. Maria looked at Tilda who shrugged and pulled it open to find Luther.

“Now it’s a party,” Tilda said.

Luther stepped inside. “Jimmy and I are out on visitation,” he said, looking at Maria. “I thought Nicky could join us.”

“Hemmicks, Hemmicks everywhere, but they shall be John Does,” Marsha sing-songed, gripping her clipboard and shaking her head.

Luther looked at her quizzically, and Tilda glared. Marsha blinked, eyes innocent and wide, and offered a closed-mouthed grimace.

“He hasn’t said goodbye yet. I’ll bring him out in a few minutes,” Maria said.

Luther nodded. “I’ll be in the car.”

Tilda shut the door and crossed the room to join them, stubbing out her cigarette. “Let’s get this show on the road,” she said, tossing laundry from the couch onto the floor, yet somehow sitting gracefully. “This isn’t a goddamn baby shower.”

Aaron’s face crumpled at the noise but settled back as he tried to eat his fist. 

“Shhhh,” Maria soothed, rocking the cradle gently. 

“Glad you could join us, Ms. Doe,” Marsha said. 

Tilda raised an eyebrow and lit another cigarette, shifting it to her left hand as she snapped her fingers toward Marsha. “Stuff the attitude and get on with it.”

“Are you prepared to relinquish parental custody of...” Marsha checked her clipboard, “Andrew Joseph Doe and Aaron Michael Doe?” she asked. 

Tilda twisted her mouth to the right and blew out a long plume of smoke, leaving a pink lipstick stain on the cigarette. “Yeah,” she said. 

Maria thought Tilda looked more put together than she had in weeks. Her feet were bare, but her face was made up and her hair was curled, and her tight jeans and tiny purple sweater would have given Luther a heart attack if he were paying attention. _Interesting._

“Tilda, are you certain?” she asked, reaching down to pick up Nicky, who still clung to her leg. “You can’t undo this.”

“Actually, since the boys are healthy, and I don’t see any obvious threats to their safety, aside from that god awful smoke and a serious disregard for domicile hygiene, she CAN undo it,” Marsha said. 

“The courts are reluctant to part children from their birth parents, which makes it extremely difficult for people who want to adopt and are raising a child as part of their family. They often have no legal claim if the parents seek to have their rights reinstated. Is there any chance the father will be seeking custody?”

“If you can find that no-good-short-ass son of a bitch, feel free to ask him. Where do I sign?”

Distaste flitted across Marsha’s face, there and gone. “Ms. Doe, you need to be aware that there is a very high probability that the boys will be split up,” she said. 

“Why?” Tilda asked, clicking the pen several times. “They’ve always been together, even in the hospital,” she said, glancing at Maria and then away. 

“It is extremely difficult to place multiple children together,” Marsha shrugged. “They’ll have a decent chance of getting adopted instead of staying in the foster system because they’re babies, and they’re white, but there is a very low probability of them staying together.”

Tilda sat still another moment, then shrugged. “They won’t remember each other anyway,” she said. 

Marsha pulled her full lower lip between her teeth and scribbled notes. “Who else lives here?” she asked.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” Tilda snapped, rising to her feet. “Do you want these signed papers or not?”

Maria set Nicky down next to the cradle and squeezed his hand.

“Relax, Ms. Doe, we’re almost done, and you can get back to your productive day,” Marsha said. “How do you tell the boys apart?” 

“Aaron has a mold,” Nicky said, pulling his thumb out of his mouth and popping it back in. 

“Aaron has a mole on his left ankle,” Maria said, when Tilda remained silent. “Here.” She pulled his sock off, then put it back when Marsha nodded. 

Marsha pulled four gray bands from a manilla envelope. “The boys have each been assigned case and ID numbers,” she explained, handing two to Tilda and fastening one around each boy’s ankle. She pulled Aaron’s sock off again, double checked both bands against her notes and nodded. 

“As I said, the system favors the birth parents and is designed to make space for regret. If you change your mind, you will need to present these ID bands or jump through hoops that are way above my paygrade, so keep them in a very safe place.”

Tilda tilted her head in acknowledgement. 

“Nicholas, would you like to pray with me?” Maria asked. He nodded. “You go first.”

Nicky bowed his head and squeezed his eyes tight. “Dear God, thank you for my cousins Aaron and Andrew. I don’t ever want them to go away. Please let them come back to me. Amen.”

Marsha cleared her throat.

“Dear heavenly Father, thank you for these precious boys and the time that we have had with them. Please be with them, keep them safe from harm. Let them know love, and I pray that they come to know You one day. In Jesus’ name, amen,” Maria said.

“Amen,” Nicky echoed.

 _“Que Dios los bendiga estaré orando por ustedes.”_ Maria bent down to place kisses on soft foreheads and breathed in their sweet baby scent. 

Marsha glanced up from her clipboard. “What did you say to them?”

“I said, ‘May God bless you; I'll be praying for you.’” Maria sighed. “I hope they have good lives.”

“Well, with what they’re facing, you’d better keep praying,” Marsha said. 

Tilda rolled her eyes. “I’m over this Kumbaya shit. Lock the door behind you, Maria,” she said, entering her bedroom and shutting the door firmly. 

“Nice to meet you, too, sunshine,” Marsha muttered. “I’m sorry for being unprofessional. It’s hard to see kids tossed around like this. I’ve...seen too many things.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I agree, this isn’t fair to them. Please know that I would take them if I could,” Maria said. 

“It’s ok,” Nicky said, patting her hand. “I prayed for God to bring them back, remember?”

“I remember,” Maria said, pulling him into her side and squeezing. “This must be a very hard job, Marsha.”

“It is. The hours are long, the pay is terrible, and it’s emotionally wrenching. But someone needs to do right by these kids.” She looked down at the twins. “It’s really uncanny how they are just two versions of the same person,” she said.

“They’re actually quite different,” Maria said. 

“Yeah?” Marsha asked softly. “How so?”

“It’s hard to explain. Aaron wrinkles up his forehead and looks away, like you’re the dumbest thing he has ever seen, and he can’t bear to look at you for another second. Andrew stares like he’s trying to figure things out. We will have to remember their stories, Nicholas.”

“Andrew likes to hold my finger and not let go,” Nicky said. “Aaron holds my finger, but then he lets go again really fast, and this green blanket is his. The blue one is Andrew’s. Mine is orange,” he said holding it up to show Marsha. 

“Orange is a great color, it suits you!” Marsha said. “Thank you for your help, Nicky. You’re a good cousin.”

Maria stared down and stroked her finger over tiny hands one last time. 

Aaron yawned and looked away, but Andrew locked eyes and latched on to her finger. She kissed each downy head in turn and then kissed Nicky’s shiny black curls and hugged him close. “My boys,” she said.

“My cousins,” Nicky said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation of Kumbaya, followed by Spanish translations for this chapter:
> 
>  Kum ba yah ("Come by Here") is a spiritual song first recorded in the 1920s. It became a standard campfire song in scouting and summer camps and enjoyed broader popularity during the folk revival of the 1950s and 1960s. The song was originally a simple appeal to God to come and help those in need.
> 
> “While the exact origin of the song is uncertain, scholars believe it originated with the Gullah Geechee people, who are descendants of enslaved African Americans who lived on the Sea Islands in the coastal regions of Georgia.” [Source: RECOGNIZING THE SONG "KUMBAYA'"; Congressional Record Vol. 163, No. 200 (House of Representatives - December 07, 2017)](https://www.congress.gov/congressional-record/2017/12/07/house-section/article/H9714-1)
> 
>  
> 
>  _“Dios mío, Nicolás,”_ Maria said weakly.  
> “My God, Nicholas,” Maria said weakly.
> 
>  _“Que Dios los bendiga estaré orando por ustedes.”_  
>  “May God bless you; I'll be praying for you.”


	9. Epilogue - A Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The rocket racer's all tuckered out_  
>  _Superman's in pajamas on the couch_  
>  _Goodnight moon we'll find the mouse_  
>  _And I love you_  
>  Songwriter: Radney M. Foster  
> Godspeed (Sweet Dreams) lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T_T
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and supporting me through this. 
> 
> Thanks again for beta Emily [@murdereyebrows](https://murdereyebrows.tumblr.com/) ❤️
> 
> Next chapter links to my playlist for "Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)," info on how the song came to be, and the lyrics.

Maria eased Nicky’s door closed and crept downstairs. 

The phone rang, and she hurried to answer so it wouldn’t disturb his nap. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

Maria collapsed against the kitchen wall. “Tilda? Where have you been? You left town without a word!”

“I’m driving to California with Rich.”

“The man from your apartment?”

“That was Dave. He was an asshole.”

“How do you meet these men?”

“Obviously, I put an ad in the paper, ‘Dial 1-800-WHORE.’ Look, I shouldn’t have called. This was a mistake.”

“No! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –”

“I know you didn’t,” Tilda sighed. “I just called to tell you I’ve got Aaron, and we’re okay.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. I guess I got used to having them around, and Rich doesn’t mind that I have a kid, so…”

“But...what about Andrew?” Maria twisted the coiled phone cord tightly around her finger. 

“He was already in a foster home,” Tilda said. “Aaron was in a temporary place, so it was easy to get him back. Look, it’s fine. Luther was right, I couldn’t handle both of them.”

“But they’re brothers – twins! _Dios mío,_ Tilda.”

“It’s not like they’ll remember each other, and Nicky will forget, too. He’s little. Andrew will be fine. He’ll probably end up with a family he likes and another brother. Oh, I’m giving Aaron Frank’s last name. My little ‘fuck you, Minyard.’”

“That’s not funny.”

“Isn’t it? I quite enjoy it.”

“You’re going to resent Aaron for it. He’s already a carbon copy of the boy you left behind. Now you’re giving him the name of the man who broke your heart? You’ll regret it.”

“God, you are sentimental! And you make is sound like life is nothing but pain and loss. Newsflash, Maria, I’m starting over. I refuse to live with regret.”

“I –”

“I’m at a payphone, and I have to go. I’ll be in touch. Just...I need to thank you. You treated me like a sister. I won’t forget that. Bye, Ave Maria.” 

The line clicked dead. 

Time slowed to the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking clock on the wall and the young boy sleeping upstairs.

Maria carefully untangled the cord and hung up the phone. She picked up Nicky’s drawing of three boys standing on bright green grass in front of a house. The taller had black hair; the others the same crayon yellow as the sun in the corner. The sky rained a riot of crooked hearts in every color.

“My cousins,” she whispered, fingers slowly tracing each stick figure. She carefully removed her necklace and silently read the names engraved on the back. Luis. Noah. Sophia. She kissed the cross and refastened the silver chain, then placed the drawing face-down in a drawer, soundlessly pushing it closed. She wondered distantly if she would ever cry again as she got out her favorite cup and filled the kettle for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to give the boys a better ending, but it wasn't realistic in this version.


	10. A Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)’ was written by Radney Foster for his 5 year old son Julian following a divorce and lost custody battle. Julian's mother was moving overseas, so Foster recorded this as a lullaby on a cassette that his son could listen to at night before bedtime to remember his dad.

Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)

Dragon tales and the Water is Wide  
Pirates sail and lost boys fly  
Fish bite moonbeams every night  
And I love you

Godspeed little man  
Sweet Dreams little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angel's wings  
Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)

The rocket racer's all tuckered out  
Superman's in pajamas on the couch  
Goodnight moon we'll find the mouse  
And I love you

Godspeed little man  
Sweet Dreams little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angel's wings  
Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)

God bless Mommy and matchbox cars  
God bless Dad and thanks for the stars  
God hears "amen" wherever we are  
And I love you

Godspeed little man  
Sweet Dreams little man  
Oh, my love will fly to you each night on angel's wings  
Godspeed Godspeed  
Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)


End file.
